


Antarktos

by platinum_firebird



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Dubcon Kissing, Identity Porn, M/M, Mind Control, Prophetic Dreams, cosmic horror, journeys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platinum_firebird/pseuds/platinum_firebird
Summary: After struggling to interpret a series of vivid and disturbing dreams, Randolph Carter is once again entangled in the schemes of the detestable Crawling Chaos Nyarlathotep. Together they journey deep into the heart of Antarctica, far beyond the edge of any map, to uncover a strange secret...
Relationships: Randolph Carter/Nyarlathotep
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Antarktos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evandar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/gifts).



> This was spawned by my love of the way there are strange and fabulous things to discover in all the uncharted places of the world in Lovecraft's universe, the idea of how Nyarlathotep might interact as a messenger for the Other Gods with creatures that aren't their biggest fans, and the idea of him haunting Carter/being fascinated by him after their encounter in the Dreamlands. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and Happy Yuletide!

XV. Antarktos  
Deep in my dream the great bird whispered queerly  
Of the black cone amid the polar waste;  
Pushing above the ice-sheet lone and drearly,  
By storm-crazed aeons battered and defaced.  
Hither no living earth-shapes take their courses,  
And only pale auroras and faint suns  
Glow on that pitted rock, whose primal sources  
Are guessed at dimly by the Elder Ones.

If men should glimpse it, they would merely wonder  
What tricky mound of Nature's build they spied;  
But the bird told of vaster parts, that under  
The mile-deep ice-shroud crouch and brood and bide.  
God help the dreamer whose mad visions shew  
Those dead eyes set in crystal gulfs below!

_\- Fungi from Yuggoth, H.P. Lovecraft_

As accomplished a dreamer as he was, Randolph Carter was no stranger to the fantastical marvels that could be shown to his astounded eyes while in the deepest depths of slumber. It was the marvellous sunset city he had glimpsed from a lofty terrace in dreams that had captured his heart so completely as to drive him to dare the perils of unknown Kadath in its icy waste; and though that city was now no more than a dim and pleasant memory, Carter still held a great power to dream clear and vibrant visions.

This time what he beheld was not near as sweet and lovely as that wondrous city he had longed for. Now, Carter dreamed of a hellish wasteland of ice and snow that recalled to him the horrors of the icy plateau of Leng; and as the ugly monastery in which dwelt that High Priest Not To Be Described squatted on its blasted and malign plain, so too in Carter’s vision was the featureless ice broken by a form not shaped by the course of nature. A single cone raised itself above the ice, hewn of queer black stone; and something about the shape of that structure seemed ill to Carter’s eye. He was very much glad, after the first dream, to find himself awake and in his own warm, bright bedroom. But his relief did not last long, for the next night he was plagued by the same dream, and the night after.

On the fifth night things came to a head; for, looking now not at the black tower but down at the ice from which it rose, Carter saw that the great ice sheet beneath his feet was clear as crystal, and below it he could see a labyrinthine maze of buildings and streets, a city of vast and unguessable proportions locked away beneath the ice. And in that moment Carter was conscious of being _perceived_ , as if some frightful watcher deep below had been alerted to his presence. All at once he started awake in his own bed, with a sense of terror clutching his heart in cold, chilling hands.

Soon fortified by the twin delights of morning sunlight and a hearty breakfast, Carter resolved at once that he could no longer wait and hope that the dream would go away of it’s own accord. He would have to find the meaning of it, or the one who showed it to him - or, he thought with a shudder, the ghastly and ill-omened place itself.

He resolved to contact a certain friend of his who happened to be a professor at the renowned Miskatonic University. This professor, William Eire, was an expert in all matters pertaining to the geography and landmarks of far-flung places; if there were anyone of Randolph Carter’s acquaintance equipped to identify the strange place shown to him in his dreams, it would be Professor Eire.

The two men met in the small, comfortable parlour of Professor Eire’s home, as this would be the easiest place to access his extensive collection of geographical texts. As he shared an interest in the occult and esoteric subjects of which Carter was somewhat expert, Professor Eire did not disbelieve Carter’s tale of the vision that had come to him in dreams; but he was surprised, as he had, as he told Carter once the story was done, only recently been approached at the university by a man sharing uniquely similar interests.

“He mentioned nothing of a tower or any structure he hoped to uncover, but he was most intrigued by anything I could tell him of that region,” Professor Eire said. “Of course, what I had to say was very little, as that continent is the last truly unexplored place on Earth; but he was exceedingly gracious about even the scant information I was able to provide. Indeed, perhaps you should meet him, Carter; for I found him to be a very agreeable fellow.”

Carter politely deferred, his mind still fixated on the puzzle of the tower in the wastes, and at length Professor Eire opened up one of the large charts from his bookcase and laid it out flat across the table between them. It depicted the continent of Antarctica as it was currently known and mapped, and Carter could see immediately that the blank spaces were multitudinous. He did not need Eire to tell him that searching for a singular cone of black rock in middle of that vast space would be even more futile than the famous quest for the missing needle in it’s haystack; and if anyone had discovered a subterranean city of the size and magnitude that he had glimpsed beneath the ice sheet, there could be no doubt that it would have been the talk of the papers for weeks.

Still, he thanked Professor Eire for his hospitality and bid him a good evening, walking back to his own home deep in thought. If there were no way to locate the mysterious tower in the waking world, then his only avenue would be to seek more information in dreams.

That night, again, he beheld the strange black tower with its uncomfortable aspect; but he no longer remained a passive observer. Instead he walked forward, realising as he crunched over the ice that his feet were clad in thick boots, and he was wrapped up warm in many layers of fur and cloth. Slowly he made his way across the thick snow and ice, drawing ever closer to the tower, and his hand was within an inch of the oily black surface before he suddenly awoke.

Several nights more he dreamed; and several nights more his efforts ended in naught but frustration, as his vision always cut off moments before his hand brushed the surface of the tower. On one night he dared again to look down through the clear ice at the unfathomable expanse of the city below; but again he felt stirring the watching eye of he knew not what, and was relieved when he came sharply awake soon after.

Thus the dreams persisted. They were, Carter noted with some alarm, taking a toll on his health, for they greatly disturbed and upset his rest, and often forced him to wake early, after which he could not bring himself to go back to sleep.

He was, he became certain, missing something of great importance. He felt sure there was some meaning to his dreams beyond the simple torture of his mind, and this certainty became even more acute when he began to perceive in the dreams a sense that there was always someone standing just behind him, an awareness that an entity of some kind or guise was right there, looking over his shoulder. No matter what exertions or focus he put into the motion, he could by no means turn his head or body to glimpse the form or identity of his mysterious observer, and eventually he accepted that whatever entity lurked there, it was within their power to hide themselves from view until they so chose to do otherwise.

He had suffered the depredations of these dreams for nigh on a month before the presence behind him finally revealed itself in the form of speech. The voice, low and male and echoing, said simply, _Look up, Randolph Carter_. He thought that the words had a mocking, almost exasperated tone; but upon turning his eyes heavenward, Carter forgot completely to be insulted.

In the firmament above blazed a thousand stars, like the myriad lamps of a gorgeous city out in the deep black; and even as he stood in wonder at the clearness of the air and lack of human light that allowed him to see such a beauteous display, Carter realised that in that very beauty lay his answer. Frantic, he looked for constellations he recognised; upon finding none, he quickly began to memorise what he could of the stars’ positions and relations to one another. As soon as morning light forced his eyelids open he leapt from bed and went straight to his study, marking down all he could recall of the belt of stars that spread over that faraway dead expanse.

At this task he worked feverishly for an entire week, until he was certain he had an at least somewhat accurate map of Antarctica’s heavens to work with. Brimming with excitement, he returned to his friend Eire, who had in his possession a small collection of star maps; and when these did not suffice, the two of them together made a trip to the university library to avail themselves of the greater collection housed there. The map Carter had made could not be lined up exactly, which was no surprise, as it did not seem likely any human had ever stood in reality at the spot which Carter saw in his dreams; but there was enough information in his inexpertly drawn chart to make a reasonable guess at where the strange edifice might lie.

By this point Professor Eire was truly excited. “This is the most incredibly fortunate concurrence of events, my friend,” he said, once they had put Carter’s map and his own charts away, and settled down for a quick nightcap before Carter went home. “For even as you have figured out this mystery, my help has once again been solicited by that gentleman I told you of before, and this time in a much grander fashion!”

Carter, embarrassed, had to admit that the excitement of the past month had quite driven all knowledge of the professor’s acquaintance from his head; but Eire readily forgave him that, and told him again of the mysterious and enigmatic figure of one Mr Jacob Morrow. A man of both great wealth and great interest in the secrets of the polar regions, he had first approached Eire concerning his knowledge of those far-off places; but now he had proposed to the university the idea of their joint-sponsoring a venture to travel to those distant polar climes, and with Professor Eire as the leader of said expedition.

This was a sudden surprise for Carter, having not thought his friend desiring of such adventure. Though he celebrated the potential expedition with him that night, he could not help the thread of suspicion that ran through his mind. Truly, it was a most auspicious coincidence - perhaps, thought Carter, too auspicious to be believed merely the work of chance. He made guarded enquiries into the person and history of this Mr Morrow, and discovered that on this score Eire knew precious little; and, more disturbingly, this lack of information did not seem to perturb him in the slightest. In such a rational man, the absence of any suspicion that his benefactor might be a charlatan seemed exceedingly odd to Carter.

Still, at Eire’s insistence he agreed that he would meet the fellow, though he had no intention of doing as Eire suggested and joining them on their proposed mission to the South Pole. Despite having achieved his goal, he went home that night disquieted; and the memory-less quiet of the deep slumber he fell into seemed oddly less reassuring than he had hoped.

The time for the meeting was set three days hence, again in Eire’s study among his prodigious collection of books and maps. Carter arrived early, and was shown into the presence of a Professor Eire who seemed almost to vibrate with nervous energy. “Our plans progress with amazing speed, Carter,” he said, pacing from the ceiling-high bookshelf on one side of the room to his grand mahogany desk on the other. “Never have I known an expedition to come together so smoothly and with so little mishap. Morrow, it seems, is the key to everything; the man can smooth over problems and soothe tempers as easily as breathing.”

The fire of suspicion within Carter was of course stoked high at these words, but before he could make any reply, Eire’s servant entered the room and curtsied, announcing the arrival of Mr Jacob Morrow.

Carter’s fears were well founded; for when the stranger walked into the room, Carter found to his horror that Mr Jacob Morrow was in fact no stranger to him at all.

It was a struggle not to cry out or fly from his chair; he was sure his face reflected the fright that gripped his insides, as the lips of the newcomer pulled up into a self-satisfied smile as soon as his eyes landed on Carter’s face. Eire, luckily, was too busy greeting his new guest to notice, which gave Carter a moment to pull himself together.

For the face of the man who had walked into Eire’s study in the bold light of a warm Boston morning held the very same handsome, aristocratic features that Carter had beheld in the grim castle atop unknown Kadath in the dark wastes. This was indeed the same creature who had attempted to send Carter into the uttermost dark abyss of the howling void - and had laughed as he’d done so. The edges had been softened somewhat, Carter perceived, so that this monster could walk unremarked among men; but still that face held some unquantifiable, mystical allure, a magnetic draw that pulled the eyes to it as a compass needle wheels ever toward north.

“…Randolph Carter,” he heard Eire say, and Carter started out of his chair on reflex. “You have heard, perhaps, of his publications? He writes the most fascinating fictions.”

“Indeed, I have,” the creature said, and still his voice held the echo of soft and sweet music, though dimmed now by the reality of the waking world.

“There, Carter! I have said often that others read your works beside me.” With that Eire bustled off to the other side of the room to gather some papers, leaving Carter to stare at the man who called himself Jacob Morrow.

Carter looked on him with fear, but also now a burgeoning anger; for if the Other Gods’ fell messenger was involved in this proposed trip to the southernmost landmass of the world, there could be no good in it. His good friend Eire was being taken advantage of, and his excitement at the prospect only made the wound sting all the more.

Though he knew it was folly, Carter asked, “What, exactly, is your goal in seeking the Antarctic, Mr _Morrow_?”

The irises of his piercing eyes were an unusual gold, Carter noticed, as they stared at one another. “I would think,” he said, in his musical, deep voice, “that to that question you already know the answer, Randolph Carter.”

His eyes slid to the star map that Carter had drawn, which Eire was just now rolling out and pinning down on the table; and mixed with Carter’s cold clutch of fear, he felt a tightening thread of curiosity. Just what did the Other Gods and their foul representative want with the strange tower and the dead city under the ice? He burned to ask, but with Eire still in the room, there was no way they could have a frank conversation.

Said man appeared to usher them to the table, and the three of them took their seats around it. Eire had spread out several maps of Antarctica along with Carter’s star map, which now looked incorrigibly sloppy beside the expert skill of Eire’s professionally drawn maps. Still it was the most referenced piece of paper on the table, as Eire outlined to the man known as Morrow the discovery that he and Carter had made. This seemed to please his benefactor greatly, and he announced that if possible their schedule for departure would be pulled forward, waving away any concerns when Eire raised them. He had such a singular tone of command to his voice, Carter wondered at Eire’s being able to raise any objection against him at all, and that thought turned to a cold chip of fear in his heart as those golden eyes landed once again on him. “You must of course accompany us, Mr Carter,” he said, and Carter wondered if he was the only one to whom the threat underlying those words was apparent.

“I am little more than a humble author,” Carter tried to protest, though his voice sounded feeble even to his own ears.

“The team will be mostly experts, Carter,” Eire said eagerly, “You need not worry about being a burden. They can pick up the slack.”

Carter looked back and forth between Eire’s eager, open expression and Morrow’s direct, penetrating stare. He had not even hinted at such a thing, but Carter had the uncomfortable feeling that if he did not consent to be part of this venture, then it would go ahead without him, and some awful, unnameable thing would happen to his friend Eire. It was just the sort of vengeful, capricious retribution he would expect from the Other Gods’ messenger. Carter rubbed at his eyes, and wondered if his fate had been sealed from the moment the vision had first appeared before his eyes. “Well, if you are certain, then I will come,” he said heavily, and Eire got up instantly to come over and shake his hand.

Carter suffered Eire’s effusiveness for another hour or so before begging leave to depart; and when he did so, so too did the hateful figure of Jacob Morrow. They issued together out onto the street, and there Carter stopped, wondering if he dared say something to the abhorrent being that had clothed itself in such innocent human garb.

The monster that called itself Jacob Morrow stopped to watch him, one perfect eyebrow raised. When Carter remained silent, he said, “I am glad you consented to come, Randolph Carter - for your friend’s sake. Professor Eire is too brilliant a mind to be wasted in an ignominious death in the unforgiving ice,” thus confirming Carter’s fears for Eire’s safety.

Drawing on the depths of his courage, Carter said, “What exactly is your purpose there, Ny-”

“I would thank you not to use that name in public,” Morrow said, his tone and countenance suddenly turning stern, stilling Carter’s lips and stealing from him any hint of daring. “My purposes,” said he, “are my own.” Then he turned with a swirl of his long coat and strode off down the street, soon disappearing from sight around a turn in the road.

Carter held himself together long enough to walk home, whereupon he threw himself upstairs and collapsed upon his bed, breathing hard. For a moment he could scarcely think through the dread pressing down upon his mind; then, when his mental faculties once more returned, he almost wished that they had not. For now he had to deal with not only the fact that he had agreed to some madcap adventure to perhaps the furthest place on the planet from his beloved Boston, but also that the Other Gods’ hateful messenger, the festering, crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, could walk abroad in the plain light of day as bold as he pleased, fooling all into thinking he was nothing but a mere human man.

Carter spent another hour lost in gloomy thoughts, spreadeagled on his bedspread; then he forced himself to sit down at his writing desk, though he found he could not bring words to his pen, even to record the dread events in his diary. What manner of horror he had agreed to he still was not entirely sure, but he had no doubt that Nyarlathotep and his masters had some evil purpose in mind, and that it would be sure to end with his own inevitable doom. After all, he had escaped Nyarlathotep once before; he harboured no illusions about the likelihood of his being able to do so again.

Thus shanghaied into being a part of Eire’s enterprise, Carter spent the next two months alternately learning all he could about arctic exploration and the survival thereof, and helping to organise the expedition in whatever manner he could. Being inexperienced in such things left him unable to contribute much to the effort, but he thought perhaps that his show of willingness might endear him to his fellow explorers.

There were six of them in all. Aside from Carter, Eire, and the hateful Morrow, there was Albert Merriam, a professor of geology at Miskatonic, Alastair Monroe, an expert cartographer from Providence, and his apprentice, Jonathan Hathorne. Their single ship, the _Bellona_ , was captained by a man of great experience in polar sailing, one Dennis Lynde, with a full crew under him. Merriam, Monroe and his apprentice all had some experience of exploring and mapping in the Arctic region, which they were assured would transfer well to the Antarctic climate, and given what Carter knew of Morrow, he was sure he and Eire would be the only amateurs on the trip. The thought did not reassure him.

They set out on a bright day from the harbour at Boston, and the warm, sunlit air, full of the cries of birds and men along the docks, seemed almost to mock Carter, who loved them so dearly and was being so brutally ripped away. He lingered on the deck even as Boston faded into the distance, watching as his beloved city dwindled behind him and wondering if ever he would set eyes on it again.

He had managed to avoid all contact over the last two months with the one who called himself ‘Morrow’; but aboard ship there was little space and few places to hide. Carter mercifully had a cabin to himself, and here he often found refuge; but he could not hide belowdecks forever, and it seemed that whenever he walked abroad on the deck, the hateful Morrow would linger in the corner of his eye.

He had not yet dared to again confront the being that he knew with a certainty was in fact the dreaded messenger of the Other Gods, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. In his turn, that awful being seemed content to haunt Carter’s footsteps without coming close enough to speak; in fact, from the look on Morrow’s face, he seemed to delight in unnerving him. Often had Carter thought of taking Eire or one of the other men into his confidence concerning their strange benefactor; but each time he recalled how Nyarlathotep had threatened Eire, and how easily a being of such power could squash them all like so many bugs under his booted heel. Carter was, he felt, chained to a sinking ship from which there was no escape; he had no means to unlock his cuffs, so must resign himself to being pulled down to the utmost deep.

In this manner of misery did Carter spent the entire trip down the east coast of America and through the Caribbean, and it was not until they had passed through the Panama Canal and ventured out into the vast Pacific that anything changed.

Carter had felt throughout the trip that Morrow held an unnatural amount of influence over the crew of the _Bellona_ , and that Captain Lynde listened to him more than any independent sea captain ought; but as they sailed further and further from land and into a desert of calm isolation on the sea, he began to see signs also in Monroe and Merriam. Eire he already suspected was under the spell of Nyarlathotep, and when the other two began agreeing more often with him and raising no dissenting voice at any given opportunity, Carter began to fear his mind alone would be clear of the horrific entity’s influence.

On one dark, quiet night, somewhere in the midst of the great Pacific, Carter saw his fears realised. Again feeling oppressed by the cramped confinement of his cabin, Carter had gone up to the deck to take the air, and found to his astonishment that he was the lone soul abroad at that hour. His fellow adventurers on the expedition he had expected to be abed, certainly, but the crew and their captain? When, looking into the wheelhouse of the vessel, he found that the helm itself was also unmanned, a great sense of disquiet began to brew deep within him. This could in no way be blamed on any but the detestable being Nyarlathotep, though what purpose he had, Carter could not even guess.

His only avenue was to search the ship for the missing crew. Only one place in the barque was big enough to hold the entire assembled group of them; and indeed, there down in the hold did Carter find all the missing men, including the captain and also his fellows Eire, Monroe and Merriam. Morrow stood at the head of the transfixed crowd - and Carter realised that in this moment there was no longer any point in calling him by that false, mocking parody of a human name. Now the creature was nothing other than Nyarlathotep, revealed in front of the mesmerised crew.

He stood at a height of nearly seven feet, and was robed entirely in a formless cape of black that gave only a mere intimation of human form beneath. The collar of that cape rose high, and from behind it the suggestion of a face remained, formed of shifting, amorphous black smoke. Tendrils of darkness flowed about that head in all directions, calling to mind long locks of hair floating in the shifting water of the ocean, and from deep within two eyes burned like deep pits of gold, fixing on Carter as he stood frozen at the door to the room.

No other eye turned to him; the gazes of all the crew and expedition members alike remained caught on the glowing light at the centre of the room, which Carter soon saw was an odd, floating crystal of deep purple hue and strange, unnatural shape. The thing spun in the air, and as it did so it seemed to Carter that it shifted and contorted in a manner that brought a sickness to the pit of his stomach. He felt that he must not look at it too long, or risk being pulled into the same hypnotic state; so, loath though he was to do so, he transferred his eyes back to the formless horror that was Nyarlathotep.

That fell being was closer now, drifting as if carried by a breath of wind. _The minds of men are weak, Randolph Carter_ , Nyarlathotep said, in a voice that Carter heard in his head rather than with his ears. _What form should I mould them into, the minds of these little friends of yours?_

Carter cringed back against the doorjamb, unwilling to look at the crystal or the stupefied faces of his fellow men, but also terrified by the oncoming being of night and horror that was Nyarlathotep. Somehow, he found within himself the strength to speak; “Still we must put in at Australia, and someone must be sane enough to confer with the authorities and merchants there.”

Nyarlathotep’s laugh echoed inside his head. _Think you I cannot fool anyone I so please, Randolph Carter? You too would be held at the mercy of the crystal’s light, if I but willed it. No, we will continue with this venture; but solely under_ my _command_.

Nyarlathotep was upon him now, and he seemed to fill the whole world, towering over Carter as he cowered back into the wall. One of those drifting tendrils of night floated toward him, reaching to brush down Carter’s cheek and neck, leaving a shiver of the cold from between stars lingering on his skin as Nyarlathotep said, _You will bring me to the crystal city, Randolph Carter._

No longer able to bear the dread presence of Nyarlathotep, Carter turned and bolted in fright. What happened next he did not remember; he knew only that he came back to himself shivering and alone, curled up in unhappy misery outside on the deck. He must, he thought, have lost his reason for who knew how long, and run like a madman away from the source of his fright. He was soaked through and cold to the bone, perhaps from a fall of rain he did not remember. He managed to drag himself down to his cabin and divest himself of his wet clothes before crawling into his bed and falling into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

When he woke the next morning he dreaded to go out of his cabin and see again the desolate, empty ship; but hunger finally forced him to brave the outside world. He found that the crew were no longer standing immobilised and helpless in the hold as he had feared, but were instead moving with purpose around the ship again; but a queer change had come over all of them. No longer did they talk and jest and laugh in the way of happy working men, but rather they went to their tasks with a quiet, determined precision, their faces blank of all thought and emotion. In a similar state did he find his colleagues; there was no lively discussion or debate while they went about their tasks, only a quiet air of focused attention as they drew maps and planned routes and apportioned supplies. When Carter attempted to speak with them they still answered, but only simply, expressing disinterest if he tried to engage them in deeper conversation or distract them from their tasks. In the end Carter gave up and went to the galley to beg a morsel off the cook - but not without noting an oddity that he had not had the wherewithal to perceive last night.

For indeed, not every other member of the crew aside from Carter was transfixed under the spell of Nyarlathotep. Carter could now recall that he had not glimpsed Monroe’s apprentice, the young man Jonathan Hathorne, among the crowd gathered last night in the hold, and he did not see him now helping his master. Neither did he see the hateful figure of Nyarlathotep, which was both a blessing and a worry to his troubled mind.

After he had finished his meal, then, he went searching the ship for wherever the young man might have hidden himself. Despite the ship’s relatively small size, Carter found that this was no easy task, for there were many nooks and cubby holes into which Hathorne might have secreted himself, and an entire hour of searching did not either exhaust the ship’s many hiding places or turn up any trace of Carter’s quarry.

Carter’s strength, so ravaged by the depredations of the previous night, was nearly exhausted by the time he once more ventured into the dark confines of the hold. He had spent several minutes on the threshold earlier in the day, the terrifying memories of Nyarlathotep lingering in his mind as he tried to convince himself to step inside. The hold, the largest room on the ship, would have the most places to hide, and some instinct told Carter that here was the place to look, even if he had found nothing the first time.

Once again Carter poked in vain through the endless barrels and crates that were stacked with neat and orderly precision. His quest, it seemed, was pointless, and he was about to leave to wander the ship once more when his ankle caught on a loop of rope that had fallen out of its proper place, sending him tumbling down onto a heap of hempen sacks. And from under these sacks, quite unexpectedly, came a grunt of pain.

Like a flash Carter was up and had flung off the thick layers of hemp - and there lay revealed the terrified face of one Jonathan Hathorne.

“Sir,” the young man croaked, “I beg of you, please, do not make me look into that frightful crystal.”

All at once Carter was filled with a rush of sympathy for the poor thing; and, offering a hand to help pull him up, said, “I have no intention of making you do any such thing, as I am the bitter enemy of the crystal’s master, and would if I could have saved all of you from looking into it’s horrendous depths.”

Great relief dawned across Jonathan Hathorne’s face at these words, and he allowed Carter to pull him to his feet. “That is wonderful news, sir. I know not truly what happened- only that Mr Morrow is- is-” Then he shuddered and seemed able to say no more.

Gently Carter led the young man back to his cabin, and there sat him down and gave him a stiff drink to calm his nerves. This seemed to revive Hathorne somewhat, and after a little time he became able to speak of what had happened down in the hold.

“We were woken from our beds by the crew, whose insistence that we gather down in the hold bordered on the manic. I believe Mr Monroe and the others believed there must be some kind of problem, as they quickly acquiesced and went together down to the hold; but when they found only Mr Morrow and Captain Lynde waiting for them there, they did not seem perturbed. It was as if the sight of Morrow calmed them, and whatever he said to them, they accepted as fact. I know not why Morrow’s influence did not work on me, but I sensed that something was awry, and as the other members of the crew began to file in, I allowed myself to be lost among the crowd. I had worked my way to the back by the time everyone was gathered and Captain Lynde shut the door, so I saw only a glimpse of that frightful crystal; but it was enough for me to know I did not want to see it any more. I managed to crawl under those sacks, and their thick weave shut out the awful light that had begun to glow from the crystal - and after that I know no more. I must have fallen asleep at some point, for I remember waking and wondering if I would be trapped under those sacks until I died of hunger and thirst, for I felt entirely too scared to emerge.”

This grim account Carter contemplated for some time. It was clear that Nyarlathotep had hypnotised the crew so that they might better meet his purposes, and trouble him less; what he would do to young Hathorne, over whom his influence seemed so weak, Carter could only make unhappy guesses. In the end, he resolved that there was only one course of action they could take, for attempting to hide Hathorne on the ship would be next to impossible with all her sailors and captain under the sway of Nyarlathotep. Instead, he advised Hathorne to pretend that he too was under the same strange hypnotism, and to follow the example of the other poor victims. It would, Carter hoped, keep Hathorne safe; but it might also offer them some way to thwart Nyarlathotep’s designs, if such a thing were possible.

So Hathorne went to rejoin his master, and in Carter’s estimation, did a fine job of imitating his singular focus and blank stoicism. Carter had made sure to warn Hathorne to avert his eyes from Nyarlathotep’s fearsome new appearance, so to better maintain his calm manner. When that dread creature finally reappeared, still cloaked all in black and terror, Carter was pleased to see that Hathorne followed his advice and kept his eyes firmly on his papers, not risking even a single look at the horror that had appeared before them. 

In this uncomfortable manner did they spend the rest of their journey across the Pacific, and though Carter attempted several more times to draw his fellows out of the strange stupor to which Nyarlathotep had subjected them, he found he could make no headway against it. He and Hathorne met every few nights for secret councils of which Carter hoped Nyarlathotep remained unaware; but they could come up with no plan of action to combat Nyarlathotep’s deadly power.

Thus then did they put in at port in Australia. Being afeared of Nyarlathotep’s retribution should he think Carter was trying to abandon the expedition, he did not dare go ashore; but he discovered that night, when Hathorne did not appear for their usual conference, that the young man must have snuck off the ship and into the town. Carter waited up in an agony of nervousness, wondering if this would be the end of his young friend, and eventually he fell asleep against his will, finally overcome by the pressing weight of his tired mind.

The next morning found Hathorne still not aboard the ship, and though there was much bustle as final supplies were loaded in from the docks, Carter did not hope that Nyarlathotep would have failed to mark Hathorne’s absence. Indeed, that dread personage - now once more cloaked in the guise of Mr Morrow - stepped up beside Carter as he waited at the ship’s rail in the cool air of early morning. “I see we are missing one of our number,” he said. His tone bespoke calm, but Carter knew that he was likely anything but.

His brain scrambled to come up with an excuse, and finally he said, “Monroe must have sent him ashore to gather supplies pertinent to their work.”

“Really,” Nyarlathotep said, and at that tone Carter felt certain young Jonathan Hathorne was now marked for a swift death.

Later in the morning Hathorne finally returned; but he was not alone. Another young man walked beside him as he came up along the quay, and Carter watched as both of them climbed the gangplank together. Hathorne’s new friend was a striking young man, due to both the handsomeness of his tanned, dark-eyed face, and the smooth confidence in the way he carried himself. His bearing and clothing called to mind a young cowboy, or a daring explorer of long-forgotten jungles, and his smile was wide and easy when Hathorne brought him over to introduce him. “Mr Carter,” said he, “This is Mr Charles Morgan,” and Morgan instantly put out his hand to shake Carter’s own.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, his voice low and honeyed with a distinct Australian accent.

Carter took his hand and shook it, though his eyes slid questioningly to Hathorne, and he knew he could not hide the fear-tinged annoyance which was bubbling up inside him. “Charmed,” he said, “But I must ask your purpose here, Mr Morgan.”

“Mr Morgan has a lot of experience in the polar regions,” Hathorne said, his smile suggesting he felt far more sanguine at this moment than Carter thought he had any right to be. “I thought it might be wise to bring him along.”

Carter himself felt extremely nervous at this deviation from Nyarlathotep’s wishes, and at the risk of dragging another man into this nightmare, and he looked around furtively for the figure of Mr Morrow, though he was now nowhere to be seen on the deck. “Is Mr Morgan aware of the… risk he is undertaking, by joining us in this venture?” Carter asked, placing heavy emphasis on the word ‘risk’.

Hathorne nodded and said blithely, “I have explained all the risks,” which made Carter’s eyebrows raise. He did find it hard to believe that any man would willingly join their expedition, given the dangers inherent in it; but then, looking back toward Morgan, he found that his disbelief lessened somewhat. He did look like the kind of man who would hear all the details of an expedition like theirs and still agree to come along.

He compounded that impression a moment later by saying, “Don’t you worry, Mr Carter. I’m aware of the possibility of failure on this venture, and prepared for it.” He gave Carter a significant look, which somehow said both that he had understood Carter’s implications of danger where it seemed Hathorne had not, and that Morgan knew much about the particular circumstances surrounding their crew.

“Very well,” Carter said, still with much reluctance, for he felt that Hathorne’s willingness to bring another man into their shared danger was a strange deviation from his usual character, no matter how self-assured Morgan seemed to be. It was somewhat soul-crushing, he thought as they crossed the deck, to have to question the motives and even the sanity of the only other on board who was not under Nyarlathotep’s spell.

Though it made him ill with fear to do so, there would be no point in waiting to leave port before they introduced Morgan to their evil benefactor. After all, if Nyarlathotep did take exception to their bringing new personages into the venture - which Carter had no doubt he might - at least then Morgan would still be able to leave the ship via the gangplank, rather than some less savoury method.

Nyarlathotep’s borrowed face raised his perfectly arched eyebrows when they finally found him and introduced the bold Mr Morgan. “You went by yourself to hire new hands?” he asked Hathorne, his tone eminently suspicious.

Hathorne, now affecting the studied indifference worn by Monroe and the others, said only, “Mr Monroe was concerned that we might need another experienced member of the party, in case of emergency.”

“Indeed - and what credentials in this matter does Mr Morgan claim to have?” Nyarlathotep said, his eyes sliding back to Morgan.

Morgan, it seemed, was neither perturbed or cowed by the aura of strangeness that seemed to hang like smoke around the figure of Nyarlathotep, at least to those sensitive to it. He listed a number of trips to the polar regions, as well as mentioning some other voyages of exploration which showed his excellent skills in areas such as navigation, outdoor survival, and marksmanship.

As Morgan spoke, Carter saw a small smile begin to play on Nyarlathotep’s lips. When Morgan was done, he said naught but, “It sounds like you do have the skills we need, Mr Morgan. Welcome to the crew.”

There could be no explanation for Nyarlathotep’s easy acceptance of Morgan other than ill intent, and Carter feared for his safety more now than he had when the young man had stepped aboard the vessel. He communicated this to Morgan once Nyarlathotep had moved on, but he would not be moved; he seemed to have a strange look in his eye as he regarded Carter, and said only, “There is nothing I need fear before we reach our destination, Mr Carter.”

Something in that strange look suggested strongly that Carter should not argue with him on this point, so he said only, “Very well; on your own head be it.”

When Carter confronted Hathorne later about his bringing another into the venture, the young man was surprisingly blasé about the whole affair, seeing no problem in bringing Mr Morgan aboard. “He insisted he must come with us, Mr Carter,” Hathorne said, “and do you not think he will be a worthy addition to the crew? He is, after all, so dashing and so fearless; I cannot think he will be anything but a boon to us.”

Carter realised then with a sick lurch in his stomach that, whether Morgan was human or indeed something more sinister, he had cast a singular spell of fascination on young Hathorne, who was lost completely in adoration of him. “He will certainly be an interesting addition,” Carter managed to say, before fleeing from Hathorne’s presence, feeling now even more desolately alone.

Nyarlathotep found him this time, not on board the ship, but in the land of dreams. Carter was in a dreamworld not his own; a place formed of dark, slate-grey rock, the sky hidden by vast wreaths of pale purple, noisome fog. Among this swirling mist lurked the form of Nyarlathotep, once again a figure of formless smoke, and Carter shuddered as that fell voice spoke in his mind. _Do you seek to defy me, Carter, by dragging others down to their doom?_

“The invitation of Mr Morgan to our party was entirely Hathorne’s design,” Carter said, looking down at the rocks upon which he sat, rather than meet Nyarlathotep’s fearsome eye.

_Ah, but would young Hathorne have had the strength and wit to defy me, without your whispering in his ear?_

“He resisted you with his own strength of mind.”

 _And fooled me with your help._ A sinuous, echoing laugh sounded in Carter’s mind. _Still, no matter. Your feeble attempts at resistance are no more troublesome than moth’s wings beating fruitlessly against a hurricane - and I believe your young Mr Hathorne has now been ensnared by another power._

“What power?” Carter demanded; but Nyarlathotep did not answer.

 _By no course can you thwart my designs, Randolph Carter,_ he said instead, _so you had best resign yourself to aiding them._

“What are your designs?” Carter asked, and received nothing but more disquieting laughter - and soon afterward awoke in his own cramped, dark cabin.

Thus it was that one more joined their number before the _Bellona_ sailed out of harbour in Australia and turned her nose toward the uttermost south. While the other members of the crew worked like mindless automatons around him, Carter stood and watched as the sea turned dark and cold, and as great white burgs began to appear, floating like beautiful white castles on the waves. The days grew long and the air became frigid, soon forcing Carter to go about wrapped in layers and layers of clothing at all hours. Soon enough he despised getting out of bed, for it was warmer there than anywhere else, though scarcely; and he soon grew to hate the grim sight of the endless dark sea, knowing that the grimmer it became, the closer they drew to their goal and the fruition of Nyarlathotep’s dark designs.

They put in, as many expeditions had, at the wide bay of McMurdo Sound, and the cruelly hypnotised crew members swiftly began to unload their gear and equipment onto the snowy shore. Nyarlathotep seemed to care little for the comfort and safety of these workers, and an evil suspicion that he did not intend to use the _Bellona_ for a return journey began to grow in Carter’s mind.

Now he had divested himself of his mortal form, Nyarlathotep’s movement across the snow was somehow both the flow of water and the floating waft of smoke; he purposed to go up to one of the high hills that surrounded their landing place, and commanded Carter, Eire and Monroe to follow. He had brought, Carter saw, the map that he and Eire had drawn together so long ago back in Boston, as well as several other maps and charts. Night was finally falling when they set out, so that by the time Carter at last hauled himself to the summit of the low hill, it was fully dark. The sky was clear and the moon full, so that the light reflected off this world of pure white snow and ice made it almost as bright as day. It was bitterly cold, and Carter shivered as he began to cool from his climb, even under many layers of wool and cloth.

He had carried a small folding table with him up the hill, and at Nyarlathotep’s direction set it out there on the snow. Eire and Monroe began to spread the charts and maps across it, leaving Carter with nothing to do but stand in the awful presence of Nyarlathotep and shiver in the cold. “Do you plan on leaving all of us for dead?” Carter asked, only finding the courage to speak with his eyes fixed on the far white horizon.

Nyarlathotep didn’t answer, but Carter could well imagine the smile that would have crossed his face, had he still owned one. His sickly voice crept once more into Carter’s head, like a worm crawling in under his skull. _We must have our heading, Randolph Carter. Your friends have some use to me yet._

Carter shuddered, and wished he might be anywhere else in the world but here. Even trapped in the depths of the Abyss with only the gibbering ghouls for company seemed better than standing here on this blighted hilltop with the horror that floated beside him.

Soon enough Eire and Monroe had confirmed the heading and course that they had planned out back on the ship, and they were able to make the trek back down to the little camp that had sprung up on the shore. Carter was ready to fall into bed, whatever that looked like in this hideous place. It turned out to be little more than a sleeping bag and blankets, and Carter felt as he lay wrapped up in a little cocoon of cloth, the tent flapping around him in the howling Antarctic wind, that this might be the worst moment of his entire life to date, even including the horrors he’d faced in the world of dreams.

Despite doubt as to whether he could manage it in the present awful circumstances, Carter must have managed to fall asleep, as he was shaken awake by Hathorne. It was hard to tell what time it was, given the near-constant daylight, but to Carter it did not really matter; there was now no escaping their fate, and what time it would have said on the beautiful grandfather clock that stood in his hall all the way back in homely Boston did not matter to him now. It only mattered that it was time to be up; that the puppet master Nyarlathotep had pulled his puppets up by their strings, and now he wished for them to dance.

They had brought dogs and sleds for the long trip over the ice, and men who knew well how to drive them. Professor Merriam and Captain Lynde were not needed among the party that would travel overland, according to Nyarlathotep, so they were left on the _Bellona_ with many of the crew. As the land party drew further and further away from the shore, leaving the ship and her crew in the dark bay behind, Carter, watching from his seat bundled in furs on the sled, felt that this might be his last sight of the _Bellona_ and any of the men left with her.

Carter had naught to do on his sled but sit and watch the miles and miles of piercing bright snow and ice go by. The ice fields extended wide and pure into the distance, unbroken and stretching on almost, it seemed, into infinity. They dazzled the eyes to look at, even though snow goggles; but there was nothing else to see or do on that wide open plain. Carter stared out at them for hours on end, feeling hypnotised by the endless, unchanging sea of snow, mind and body going blissfully numb as he gazed upon the blank, lifeless nothing.

For several days they travelled through endless tracts of dead ice and snow, stopping only briefly to correct their course during the day. At night Carter bundled himself into his tent and tried to lose himself in the tender embrace of dreams, but even that fair land offered no escape. Accomplished dreamer as he was, it seemed here the lands of dream were closed to him, and he saw nothing in his fitful sleep but darkness interspersed with flashes of odd colour and light. He had thought he might again see the tower, now they were this close, but on that subject his dreams stayed resolutely silent.

Even through his growing despair- and cold-induced numbness, Carter could not fail to notice that all was not well with the course of their expedition. For the first few days they had stopped only rarely and briefly, to make checks and simple corrections; but now the breaks were more frequent, and the arguing of the navigators more heated. Carter, with his non-existent knowledge of cartography, was content to stay wrapped in his furs on the sled and contribute nothing to the increasingly lengthy discussions. It seemed, however, that this would not please their hellish master.

Carter was nearly ready to climb into his sleeping bag and surrender himself once more to the darkness of slumber, when he felt the prickling sensation of being watched on the back of his neck. The canvas door of the tent moved, with too much purpose to have been shifted by the wind; and when Carter turned, it was to behold the horrid visage of Nyarlathotep.

He stood frozen while Nyarlathotep’s hateful voice spoke in his head. _Someone is frustrating our purpose, Randolph Carter_ , he said, the golden pits that formed his eyes boring into Carter’s.

Carter swallowed thickly. “I have done nothing.”

 _Indeed, for once you are telling the truth. It is something else that obstructs us now._ Nyarlathotep floated a little further into the tent, causing Carter to cringe backward. _You must return again to the crystal city in dreams, Randolph Carter._

“I have not dreamed of it a single time since I first drew the star map with Eire.”

_Yes; the dream was no longer needed, once you had your chart. But now we must have a correct map once again, Randolph Carter. I do not think I need explain what will happen if you fail me._

Carter’s knees felt weak from fear. “But… how…?”

 _You are a dreamer of great experience; I am sure you can figure it out._ Once more Nyarlathotep came forward, now looming with his great height over Carter, who wanted little more than to fall down on his sleeping bag and hide his head. _You_ will _lead me to the crystal city, Randolph Carter_ , Nyarlathotep repeated; and then he was gone, with little more than a wisp of black smoke left in his wake.

Carter knew the fate of the entire expedition and all the men on it now rested in his hands. Nyarlathotep may or may not be planning to leave them all for dead when he had that which he sought, but he would certainly begin arranging gruesome fates for Carter’s fellows if Carter could not swiftly set them back on course. With this frightful thought in mind, Carter rolled himself up in his sleeping bag and closed his eyes, preparing himself for the world of dreams.

That first night he made little progress. He thought of nothing but the black stone tower before he fell asleep, but his dreams revealed only snatches of vision, little glimpses of the great edifice mired in the icy waste. He was filled with the sense that the tower was _close_ , if only he knew where to look. The next day he meditated on his visions of the tower, and let nothing but the image of that place fill his head - so that by the time he went to sleep once more, it was the only thing of which he could think.

This time his dreaming bore fruit, for once more did he stand in that same position on the ice, looking up at the black tower where it brooded in the midst of ice and snow. He knew, now, that looking down was fatal, and would alert whatever horror waited under the ice; so instead he looked up, running his eyes over the positions of the burning stars above and fixing them in his mind. He looked not just at the stars above the tower, but those in the heavens in all directions, trying to guess from which way their party would be coming. There was paper and a frozen pencil waiting by his bedside when he woke, and he once more begin to feverishly set down the arrangement of the stars as he had seen it, lest the memory of the dream fade from his head.

Nyarlathotep, it seemed, was pleased with this progress, and he gave Carter’s updated star maps to Monroe and Hathorne to puzzle over. Morgan too looked over the charts, and seemed to give the greater amount of useful guidance; and at that Carter began to suspect the young man even more.

Several times more they were thrown off course, and several times more did Carter have to dip into the land of dream to guide them back to the proper path. He knew it was impossible, but the two cartographers spoke of the stars above moving in their orbits and changing their patterns, as if to frustrate the searchers’ purpose. Morgan, Carter observed, seemed always the most clear-sighted when it came to these strange antics of the heavens, as if their wanderings did not fool him - and always he seemed unsurprised at the result when Carter handed over a new star map, as if he had already known what he would see there before he set eyes on the paper. Carter’s suspicions were of course roused by this to a very great degree, but he spoke no word of it. Perhaps it was the feeble hope that whatever Morgan knew, or whatever he truly was, he might be of some help against the horror Nyarlathotep.

Now, the navigators said, they came hard on the spot where the black tower ought to be - and the closer they came, the more Carter felt that the noose was tightening around all of their throats. What purpose, exactly, did Nyarlathotep have in that ancient, crystalline city? It could be nothing good, but what did it mean for them? And what would he do with them, once his purpose was complete? It was too much to hope, Carter felt, that he would simply leave them in the Antarctic waste, that they might make their own way back to civilisation.

It was nearing Antarctica’s brief night when a shout finally came from the head of the column. Carter sat up in the sled, suddenly alive with nervous tension, and he instructed Hathorne, who was driving, to move their sled a little to left, so that the sled riding in front might no longer block their view. Hathorne quickly did so, and for the first time Carter’s waking eyes beheld the sight that had haunted him in dreams.

The black tower was little more than a mere spot of darkness in their white surroundings, but on this bright landscape it was plain to see. It towered higher as they came closer, and it felt as if snakes began to coil in the pit of Carter’s stomach; for, he had realised, now they were nigh not only to the culmination of Nyarlathotep’s plans, but also to the strange presence he had felt watching him from underneath the ice.

The party stopped a few hundred feet away from the tower, and Nyarlathotep instructed most of them to wait with the dogs. Carter, of course, he instructed to follow him to the tower; but curiously he also motioned to Morgan, and did not object when Hathorne, who had been in Morgan’s company almost exclusively since the latter joined the expedition, also began to cross the snow with them.

As the tower grew nearer, it became all Carter could focus on, his eyes drawn to it with a peculiar magnetic pull. As they stepped closer he fancied he could see the stars in the heavens begin to burn as they had so brightly shone in his dream, and they were within thirty feet of the great construction when sudden auroras burst into life above their heads, painting the white landscape in a myriad of shifting colours. This, Carter realised, was a scene he had beheld so often in dreams, right down to the exact details, it was as if the vision he saw now had been sent back through time to his dreaming mind so many months ago. He walked in a daze further on toward the looming pinnacle, seeing its pitted and aeon-scarred surface come into focus, the wear of hundreds of long, cold, storm-battered years written in the surface of the rock.

It was several seconds before he noticed that the ice underneath his feet had of a sudden begun to glow with a strange interior light, and when he looked down at this weird spectacle, he saw that what he had observed in his dream was mirrored in life, and the ice sheet below his feet was clear as glass. Down there were the spirals and curves and breathtaking wonders of a vast, shining crystal city, beauteous and strange and shining with that queer pale light.

His wonder was broken by the shivering horror that accompanied the voice of Nyarlathotep. _Now we are here,_ said he, _and there is no longer a need for deception. Why not reveal the reason you contrived to summon me here, O Great Bird of Myth and Legend?_

Surprised, Carter looked to him, but Nyarlathotep was staring at Morgan. The sick pit in Carter’s stomach yawned wider as he turned to the young man, and all his suspicions rose to the forefront of his mind. Morgan, staring coldly in Nyarlathotep’s direction, did little to assuage them.

“What?” asked Hathorne’s voice, and Carter jumped, having all but forgotten the young apprentice was there.

 _Your disguise fooled me for all of a few minutes, O great one_ , Nyarlathotep said, his tone hideously mocking, _But it was soon plain to see._

“I did not intend to fool you; only to lead you here,” Morgan said. Then even as he stood there he seemed to grow taller, and he motioned for Hathorne to back away. When the young man stood rooted motionless to the snow even as Morgan’s body began to lurch and bend, Carter darted forward to drag him back, averting his eyes from the strange warping and contorting as Morgan’s human shape began to deform and twist into something else. He could not plug his ears, though, and even through the thick wool of his hat he heard the sick cracking and thick, wet noises as the man who had claimed to be Charles Morgan changed into something decidedly unhuman.

Hathorne, who had not had the good sense to look away, soon fainted. Kneeling by him and keeping the bare skin of his face from sticking to the icy snow, Carter had a good excuse not to look up; so it was that he did not see exactly what Charles Morgan had become. He heard, though, a much-changed and yet familiar voice say, _Now what will you do, detestable crawling chaos of the heinous Other Gods?_

The only answer given by Nyarlathotep was a laugh. This seemed to incense the creature that had been Charles Morgan; for suddenly a horrible screech rent the air, piercing through Carter’s ears and making him scream in pain, though the sound of his voice was lost in the awful wailing.

For a long moment he lost sound and sense altogether; when he returned to himself, it was to find that he had fallen over onto his back, his eyes staring up into the soaring auroras and field of burning stars. He felt fear sicken and overtake him, and he pressed his eyes tightly closed; for even the stars above could be no comfort to him, for he remembered what lived in the black abysses between them.

Soon enough, though, his hearing returned, and with it came the cries of men across the snow. It took him a long moment to realise that his name and Hathorne’s were being called, and even longer to lever himself up off the snow and look about. Hathorne was lying nearby, and for a moment Carter feared he had perished; but, upon going up to him, he realised he was simply lying on his back, staring in mute despair up at the sky. Carter attempted to rouse him to stand, which had no effect; shortly afterward Monroe and Eire appeared, and exclaimed in horror upon seeing young Hathorne in such a state. It appeared they had completely recovered their senses, and had no recollection of their journey past the point that Nyarlathotep had gathered them in the hold of the _Bellona_. Carter could only imagine what a shock it must have been for them to wake up from their trance so suddenly in the midst of this uncharted, snowy continent, and he admired them greatly for having the strength of mind to so quickly come searching for himself and Hathorne.

Carter allowed Eire to pull him to his feet, and looked all about them in panicked fear; but of both Nyarlathotep and the creature that had once been Charles Morgan, there was no sign. Thus then did Carter encourage his fellows that they should make haste and leave this evil place; but Eire and Monroe, who had no recollection of the evils of Nyarlathotep, or even that it was their supposed friend Jacob Morrow who had abandoned them here, now stood transfixed by the crystal city beneath the ice. Carter could see in their faces that they hungered for the discovery of such a marvel, and though he tried to speak against it, in short order plans were being made to explore the malign black stone tower, and see if it were, as Eire thought, the gateway to the brilliant beauty of the city below. Hathorne, still mute in despair and sadness, said no word of support for Carter, and so he had no choice but to watch helplessly as his fellows made excited plans for the discoveries they would soon make beneath the ice.

Soon enough the party was ready, and, leaving some men behind to watch the dogs, they made for that grim black tower under the shifting colours of the sky.

At first it seemed that the tower had no opening at all; as they explored all around it and found no entryway, nor even a crack or crevice that could be a keyhole, Carter felt gripped by deep, utter relief. But his hope was not to be, for an enterprising young man from one of the dog teams used his climbing gear to scale the pitted and cracked face of the tower, and found that it was open to the sky. This news brought great excitement to Eire and Monroe, who tasked the young man with descending into the hollow cylinder and exploring whether it might lead somewhere deeper. Shortly the young man did indeed reach the bottom of the tower on the inside, and came back to report that a flight of stairs began from the floor of the tower, descending down into the dark.

Thus did they spend some time rigging ropes so that others might follow in the young man’s wake, and descend the mysterious stairs. Though he was loathe to go anywhere near the place, still Carter felt that he could not in good conscience allow his comrades to go on without him when only he knew the true extent of the horrors that might lurk within. Thus it was decided that the exploring party would comprise of Eire, Monroe, Carter, and a selection of the men from the dog teams. The others would stay behind to make a small camp, setting up shelter enough to give both dogs and men some small respite from the chilling wind. Hathorne was, they thought, in no condition to continue onward, and so would be left behind; but as they made their final preparations he appeared, having seemingly regained his energy and vigour, and would not be put off coming with them. Monroe worried for the health of his apprentice, and insisted he stay behind, but the young man would not budge. Carter could see by the fire in Hathorne’s eyes that he would not stay; he had business to finish below the ice, with the creature that had once been Charles Morgan.

They ascended the tower one at a time, with Carter bringing up the rear. When he reached the spire’s apex he stood for a moment, staring about at the blasted landscape and the myriad of colours that still danced way up overhead. Distantly he wondered if this was to be his last sight of the surface - and how grim it was, that this desolate wasteland was what he beheld, rather than the beloved fields and woods and hills of his own country. Then Eire’s impatient voice called from below, and with a heavy heart Carter began his descent.

The well of darkness in the bottom of the tower had been pierced by Eire’s electric torch, and in that crisp light the dark, curving stairs that led down into the bowels of the earth were clear to see. Formed of the same strange dark stone as the tower, they spiralled down into darkness, and Eire had already descended a little way, as there was not enough room at the bottom of that tower for their whole company. Thus it was Eire who descended first, followed by Monroe, then Hathorne, and then Carter, himself trailed by several men from the dog teams - two of whom, he noticed for the first time, carried pistols. Perhaps firearms had been part of the expedition’s cargo from the first, and Nyarlathotep had simply banned the use of them; but whatever the case, it made Carter feel a little better to know that they were not completely helpless. He communicated the thought to Eire that perhaps one of the men with pistols should go first, in case of danger, and to this Eire reluctantly agreed. Whether any bullet could harm a monstrosity such as Nyarlathotep, Carter did not know, but he resolved that it would do no harm to try.

The staircase descended for a long, long time into the dark, its walls and floors and ceiling monotonous in their expanse of featureless black stone. Carter fancied that he could feel some presence telling him to cease descending, some outside force telling him to turn back, to return to the surface world; but that may have been no more than his own fear.

Then came the change. They saw light appear and grow stronger, a curious blue light that washed across the black walls; then the dark stairs that had descended so uniformly came to an abrupt termination, ending in a small doorway with curious carvings marching across the lintel. Through this door opened a strange, otherworldly vista; a vast cavern stretching away into the distance, all bathed in unearthly blue light. They could see now that great crystals had pushed from every wall and surface in long, deadly spikes, who knew how many hundreds of years ago, and whichever strange, unknown race owned this city had created it by carving their homes and shops and squares from the natural crystal formations. The blend of naturally occurring magnificence and worked carven beauty was the most arresting sight most of them had ever seen. Even Carter, who had beheld in the dreamlands too many wonders to count, was struck dumb by the marvel laid out before them.

The cavern was entirely silent, save for the slow, constant drip of water from the deep blue ceiling of ice that hung so far above their heads. The crystal buildings glowed with a bright inner light, but there were no voices, no other signs of life. Carter could smell nothing save the cold, and damp stone; there was no hint of smoke from a cooking fire, or of dirt, or of anything fresh. He had the immutable feeling that this great beauteous city was little more than a cold, silent tomb.

The spell that held them still broke after a long moment, and instantly Eire and Monroe wished to press forward, to walk among the crystalline buildings and squares. Hathorne did not gainsay them; indeed, the fire that had so thoroughly replaced his despair seemed to compel him onward, and against the might of the three of them combined, there was no point in Carter raising an objection. Though he knew they were courting a great danger by pressing onward, he could not help but admit that a growing part of him also wished to walk the streets of that magnificent crystal city, to brush his hands along the strange walls and look inside the mysterious buildings.

So they all approached, and entered the maze of streets. Everything was formed of crystal; even the avenues and squares and plazas had been paved with great thick slabs of the stuff, smooth and near-seamless. The buildings were many-sided, carved as they were from crystals, and inside was strange furniture all formed of that same material, designed in an odd manner that suggested it had not been constructed for the use of anything human. Carter could discern a little of what form the builders of this city might have taken from what they left behind, but he did not want to look too closely at that line of thought.

It was in exploring one of these eerie abandoned homes that Carter made his great mistake. Captured by the wonder of the city, he did not keep a sharp eye on the whereabouts of his party; when he exited the building, satisfied that he had explored it fully, he found to his horror that the wide plaza outside was silent and empty.

He made a quick survey of the lanes leading from that place, and, seeing no one, his panic stirred ever the higher. Despite the oppressive quiet of the place, he forced himself to call out their names; but his only answer was that same unholy silence.

Trying to rein in his fear at finding himself alone in that suddenly eerie, dreadful city, Carter debated with himself for a moment before striking out on a road that seemed to lead further into the city. That was the direction his companions were minded to go, he reasoned, and where he would have most chance of finding them.

To his great consternation - and terror - he found no one. The streets were empty and unsettling in their silent beauty, and the more Carter wandered, finding no sign of his fellows, the more he wondered if this were not some evil doing of the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, or perhaps whatever strange creature Charles Morgan had now become.

At length he stumbled out of the winding streets onto a great central procession way, and, following it upward, he suddenly beheld an incredible sight. The termination of the wide avenue was in a huge square plaza that extended over a hundred feet on each side, and at the opposite end of that expanse of polished-smooth crystal rose perhaps the most beautiful castle Carter had even seen. Formed entirely from that extraordinary shining crystal, this great palace seemed to glow with a light entirely its own, a rainbow kaleidescope of colours that reflected off every surface in the vicinity. The castle rose in a rough triangle shape, a profusion of halls surmounted by towers topped with sharp points, a construction that should have been chaotic, and yet possessed a sublime sort of symmetry. It sat on a rise, towering over the wide plaza, and a huge sweeping crystal staircase rose up from the floor of the square to the doors of that mysterious palace. Flanking the beginning of the staircase on either side were two gargantuan statues, each easily the height of three men. They were carved in the shape of enormous birds, raptor-like, with huge crests of feathers immortalised in shining crystal.

For long moments Carter stood still in shock, taking in the magnificent structure that must once have housed the rulers of this strange kingdom; thus it was that he did not notice the approach of slow, ponderously beating wings until they were nearly upon him.

He looked about frantically for a place to hide, but it was no use; a great shape swept overhead, and then landed in a rush of cold air right in front of him. It was, as Carter had feared, a great bird almost identical in size and shape as those that graced the pillars at the far end of the plaza; but rather than the translucence of crystal, this bird shone pure white on it’s head and back, fading through into a pale periwinkle on the underbelly. It’s great crest was a bold and beautiful deep royal blue, and canny eyes of the same colour watched Carter as he stood before it, his knees shaking.

 _It seems your master has forsaken you_ , the great bird said, and it spoke with the same voice of the thing that both was and was not Charles Morgan.

“I have no master,” Carter croaked.

_No? Have you not led him here, exactly as was my design?_

A cold shudder of revulsion wrung through Carter’s chest. “I am no servant of Nyarlathotep.”

 _His slave, then? That is even more pitiful_.

Forcing down a sharp answer, Carter said, “What are you?”

 _The master of this place_.

“Why did you deceive us? Why board the ship at Australia?”

He did not know how, but he perceived that the great bird’s countenance became annoyed. _I had hoped to bring some of the crew’s minds under my sway, but your master had already frustrated my efforts. Your Hathorne was devoted, but of no real use. But I bested the crawling chaos, in releasing them from their bondage_ , it said, ruffling it’s feathers in what seemed to Carter like pride.

“Then why not have boarded the ship in South America? Or in Boston?”

The bird did not answer, instead glaring down at him, and Carter had the feeling he had just inadvertently insulted it. Perhaps, he thought, it’s power was not extensive enough to facilitate travel anywhere further than the nearest landmass inhabited by humankind. Unbidden the thought came into Carter’s head that it would be very simple for the great bird to crane its neck downward and peck him up from the ground, and that he would be gone into that terrific maw in a matter of seconds. It was with the last reserves of his courage that Carter asked, “Where are the rest of the crew? Why did you lead us here?”

The bird said, _I believe your master can answer that better than I_.

Carter turned to follow the bird’s gaze. Great crystal mansions lined the processional way behind him, and from underneath one of their wide front doors, familiar black smoke poured in a thick, sluggish river. As Carter watched, it resolved once again into the hateful black-cloaked figure of Nyarlathotep.

 _If you are done skulking, perhaps our conversation may begin_ , said the great bird that was no longer a man named Charles Morgan.

Nyarlathotep floated a little way forward, and Carter cringed backward at his passing. _I bear a message from the Other Gods._

_I had thought you might. I can tell you already that I am minded to refuse._

_That is a pity_ , Nyarlathotep said, though his tone suggested it was not.

 _I have held this city for over a hundred thousand years_ , the great bird said, _and though my people are gone, I claim it still. If your Elder Gods wish a palace for themselves, they had best look elsewhere_.

 _As I said, that is a pity_ , Nyarlathotep said - and then he struck.

Carter did not see the blow, so fast did Nyarlathotep’s shadowy body move; but he saw the great bird block it with it’s wickedly pointed beak. At this the shadows retreated, and twisted, changing; and suddenly Nyarlathotep was no longer a being of shadow, but a monster of revolting, undefinable shape that towered toward the icy ceiling, a mass of flesh and eyes and tentacles and claws so horrific that, upon catching one glimpse of it, Carter keeled over backward and fainted.

He woke lying on his side, with his cheek stuck to smooth, freezing crystal. Luckily for him, he lost no skin to pulling himself upright, and in doing so, he saw with no small amount of fright that he had been moved while he lay unconscious, as he was now alone in a small crystal chamber. Every surface was featureless and smooth, and there was no furniture.

For a long time Carter simply lay on the floor, shivering. He knew not by what means he had been moved or for what purpose, but he had the vague impression that he had been left with the instruction to remain in this room; but he knew without doubt that if he did so, he would never again have the opportunity to escape. Forcing himself to remain calm, Carter climbed to his feet and began to search across each wall for a crack or keyhole, anything that would indicate the presence of a door. Only through methodical searching did he uncover a small seam, and by following the length of it with his fingers did he descry the rectangular shape of a door. It was heavy, but when Carter set his shoulder to it and heaved, the door slid open by slow, aching inches.

He was now in a long corridor. Still the air was silent and hushed, and Carter cringed at the slap of his boots against the crystalline floor. There were no windows anywhere, so Carter was reduced to wandering the endless hallways, looking in vain for a downward staircase or a door to the outside.

When Carter first heard a sound other than his own footsteps, he cringed mindlessly, seeing already in his mind’s eye Nyarlathotep sweeping along the corridor toward him, ensnaring him in his shadowy embrace. For a moment he was frozen to the wall with fear; but then he realised the sound was of someone crying.

After a second’s debate with himself, Carter turned and followed the noise to its source. He began to hear another sound as he drew closer, layered underneath the crying; a deep, rhythmic rushing, sighing sound. It was not until he turned a corner and saw what was laid out ahead of him that he realised the second sound was breathing; the slow, tortured, rough breathing of the great bird that had once been Charles Morgan.

The bird lay on its side, its perfect plumage rent here and there with ghastly, gaping wounds. Carter wondered that in this state it continued to draw breath; but it did, the huge, aching sound of it filling the whole room. It was stretched out across the crystalline floor, it’s eyes staring up at the ceiling, brimming over with pain.

The crying came from the man crumpled at the bird’s side; it took several seconds for Carter to identify him as Hathorne. He immediately rushed over, and tried to pry from Hathorne an answer as to the whereabouts of the rest of their group; but Hathorne seemed too overcome by sorrow to speak. Eventually Carter tried a different tack, getting a hand under Hathorne’s armpit and trying to induce him to stand, saying, “Come, Hathorne, there’s no need to cry over the creature- we must be going-”

This seemed to rouse the young man. “There is every need to mourn the passing of beauty, Mr Carter,” he said, roughly pushing off Carter’s hands.

“Hathorne, this being is a thing beyond human understanding, and a creature that has callously used you for it’s own goals,” Carter said, exasperated beyond measure.

For a long moment Hathorne just looked at the dying creature. The bird’s singular visible eye swivelled to look back at him, and between the two of them seemed to be something beyond Carter’s understanding. “Maybe so,” Hathorne whispered, “But for the first time, Mr Carter, I was _needed_.”

Carter had the hideous certainty that nothing he said would move the young man from his resolve to stay, but still, he tried, “You must come home with me, Hathorne. There is every likelihood you will die if you stay.”

Hathorne did not even look at him. Tears still rolled down his face as he said, “After the wonders I have beheld, there is nothing for me at home.”

Well Carter knew that feeling - for had he himself not thought the same, while he quested for the beautiful sunset city he had seen in dreams? He felt a horrible clarity in him then, like the tolling clang of a bell; for he had not given a single thought to turning back, on his own quest, though many wiser than him had advised against his goal. He knew with a certain finality that there was nothing he could say to persuade Hathorne to come away. He moved to the doorway; but before he left he caught the eye of the great bird, whose piercing blue eyes watched him now as he moved. “Yours was the voice in my dream,” Carter said; he felt he had realised it before, but only now been able to put it into words. “You were the one who sent me the visions. To lure Nyarlathotep here.” The bird inclined it’s great head in a nod. “ _Why_?”

 _I grow weaker with each rotation of the sun_ , the bird said, it’s voice whispery like the beating wings of a moth, _In forcing the conflict, I had hoped to best him while some of my strength remained. Even as the city tried to hide us, to steal the path from you and turn you away, I worked against it, luring you in. Yes, it was I who sent the visions._ The voice laughed bitterly inside Carter’s mind. _But I was naive. The crawling chaos Nyarlathotep cannot be beaten, or tricked, or escaped._

“I escaped him once.”

_Did you? Or were you merely set free?_

Disturbed by this thought, and by the deep knowledge in the bird’s eyes, Carter quit the room quickly, though his heart was still heavy with the grief of leaving young Hathorne to his fate. Through endless passages he wound, until he came, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, out into a cavernous room where stood two huge open doors. Through them Carter could see the glowing light of the city, and the ceiling of thick ice far far above. He ran thoughtlessly outside and down the great crystal steps, imagining that at any moment a hand would reach out to pull him back.

Out here was the evidence of what seemed to have been a titanic battle. There were great, long gouges in the crystal steps, and one of the huge statues that flanked the entrance from the plaza was now missing it’s head, with huge fault lines running through the still-standing remains of the sculpture. All around the square the formerly pristine flagstones were cracked, shattered, and in some places missing entirely, leaving only rough dirt in their place. The great mansions and pavilions that lined the open space on every side showed evidence of damage, as if something had been thrown repeatedly into their beautiful facades, crushing dainty minarets and delicate balconies. All this Carter blew past in a blur, dodging and jumping to avoid tripping on the now uneven surface of the plaza.

Of that desperate scramble through the shining crystal city, Carter remembered very little. He ran blindly back the way he thought he had come, several times losing himself in the tangle of streets, and always fearful that at any moment his flight would be arrested by the unwavering malice of Nyarlathotep, and that he would be dragged back to the crystal castle from which there would be no escape.

In the end, he was not dragged back to that fearful palace - but he was not released, either.

He was near the other side of the city, hopelessly lost, when the shining crystal below his feet suddenly turned inky black. It spread like a wave across the paved street, up the walls and over the buildings; then it closed in above Carter’s head, expanding to fill his whole world with deep, consuming darkness. He had the sensation of eyes on the back of his neck, and he turned to find the floating figure of Nyarlathotep, once more a being of darkness and black smoke, rather than a monster too maddening to behold. Carter staggered backward, but Nyarlathotep matched him step for step, slinking closer.

“Did you kill them all?” Carter asked, his voice scratchy, “Eire and Monroe, and all the men, too?”

 _I no longer had need of them_ , Nyarlathotep said.

Carter wanted to protest; but the darkness was swirling around him now like a cold, leeching storm, and from it burned the twin golden fires of Nyarlathotep’s eyes. _I liked what that detestable creature called you_ , his voice said, slithering through Carter’s mind like a twisting viper, _My servant. Yes, Randolph Carter, my servant, my slave. I enjoy the sound of that._

 _I am no one’s servant_ , Carter wished to scream, but those eyes held him transfixed. Pressure brushed his skin, like hands pressing against his cheeks, and Carter wondered then if it might not be easier, to give in to that coiling darkness. To let it carry him, he thought; to give up the struggle that he had so valiantly fought all the way here, the fight that in truth seemed meaningless against the power of such beings as Nyarlathotep. An end to pain; an end to fear.

He felt himself lifted off his feet, held aloft in the embrace of that whirling darkness. Those burning eyes drew closer, churning like melting, shimmering gold - and something like lips pressed cold against his own. They tasted like honey and death and the aching cold between the brightest of stars, a sensation beyond taste, beyond touch. He let them take as they wished; let his eyes slip closed.

/

_Appeared in the Boston Globe on January 4th, 1901_

**_Author Reappears In Strange Circumstances Amid Fear For Polar Expedition_ **

_A strange turn of events was reported by the denizens of — Street on Thursday morning last. One Mr Randolph Carter, an author and amateur academic believed to have been on a scientific expedition to Antarctica, was found asleep in his bed by his astonished housekeeper. Upon waking, Mr Carter could not explain how he had come to be at home asleep in his bed, or what had happened to the rest of the expedition’s crew (currently there is no word of them, and sponsors from the Miskatonic University in Arkham are said to fear the worst). The one thing Mr Carter did say was perhaps just as confusing as his sudden appearance, for he was reported as having told his housekeeper that ‘He keeps only that which He requires, or which pleases Him; but I have the thought that it is perhaps preferable to be callously discarded than in any way needed by that abominable crawling chaos._

_Yet it is the sad fact of my life that chiefest among His desires is the possession of one Mr Randolph Carter.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


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